


eye of the beholder

by mindelan



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, romantic if you squint lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6470620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindelan/pseuds/mindelan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s supposed to be an easy mission. Get in, grab Carrington’s device, get out. But Deacon should have know that these things don’t usually go as planned. </p><p>Especially not when she walked in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	eye of the beholder

Deacon’s seen her before, of course. Anyone that shows some kind of potential he nudges in their direction. Why, just couple weeks ago, they’d let in a farmer who showed potential with a rusty old shovel. And if they’d let that guy in, now running under the codename “Fixer”, this lady would be accepted in the Railroad, no problem.

All it took was a confused question, posing as one of the guards in Diamond City. He’d asked her if she had ever heard of the Railroad, gave her the old “follow the Freedom Trail” line, and had watched her as she took out majority of Boston’s troublemakers (you know, the raiders, the super mutants) without even breaking a sweat. Her and that dog have some sort of agreement worked out -- together, they’re lethal.

Des would be a idiot to let this one pass by.

He stands behind the wooden walls, just barely out of sight. He’ll walk out when it’s his time, vouch for the new girl, get her in. Des always listens to him, and with good reason.

Des gives her the standard shakedown. Who are you, what do you want with the Railroad, etc., etc.. He’s heard it so many times that he could probably recite it from memory. (In fact, he does -- especially at the last bit.)

And then it’s his cue.

He strolls out like he has all the time in the world, hands tucked in his pockets. He whistles, then turns to Desdemona as if they’re the only two in the room. “You let her in yet or what, boss?”

“Deacon,” she replies evenly, with a tilt of her head in acknowledgement. “How nice of you to finally stop by.”

He waves her off, like he always does, turning to get a look at the woman. Yep, she looks the same. Blood red hair that so obviously came out of a bottle, tanned skin without the hint of sunburn, and those big, gaudy white sunglasses that he’s never seen her without. And the dog’s there too. She’s got a hand fisted in his collar as if it’s the only thing that’s currently keeping her grounded.

“She’s good, boss,” he says, leaning back against the wall. “I’ve seen her out there -- ridding the Commonwealth of problems one raider at a time. Been all over the wastes and still alive today to tell the tale. Impressive, huh?”

“Hmm,” Desdemona muses, giving the woman a once over. “I suppose that if Deacon speaks so highly of you, then I’d be a fool not to offer you spot here in the Railroad.”

She waits, watching for a reaction. Desdemona doesn’t get any -- Deacon doesn’t know what she expects. From what he’s seen of this woman, she’s stoic, quiet, cold -- basically a living statue. A fun addition to their ragtag group of vigilantes.

“Right, then,” she responds with a nod of her head, as if the woman’s lack of response doesn’t bother her. It probably doesn’t. So long you get the job done, right? “One final question. Would you risk your life for your fellow man? Even if that man is a synth?”

Her nod is miniscule. “Yes.”

“Then we can probably find some work for you. Keep in mind that you’ll only be a tourist for now. Perhaps when we figure out if you can be trusted or not you’ll be promoted to a full agent.”

Deacon frowns. “Des, she’s a hell of a lot better than a tourist.”

Desdemona meets his gaze firmly, an unspoken command not to question her decisions. He doesn’t care much about the gesture; now’s not the time to argue about it. Instead, he holds up two hands, placating, and moves out of her way as she walks into HQ. After Glory’s followed, and left the two of them alone, Deacon intercepts her on the stairs up.

“You know, I’d consider it a close personal favor if you don’t sell us out to the Institute,” he opens. Even though he’s seen what she’s capable of, some of their most trusted agents had been bought for the right price. It’s nice to get this nasty business about betrayal out of the way early.

She inclines her head. God, Deacon really wishes he could see her eyes right now. But they’re both playing that game; he’s got a pair of his own one, albeit less. . .distracting. “I won’t.”

“Good,” he replies, rubbing his hands together. “Here’s the fun part. You’re obviously better than a tourist, so I’ve got a little plan put together. Why don’t you meet me at Lexington in a couple hours after Des takes you on the tour of HQ? There’s an old base there that the two of us can clean up.”

Her lips purse. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Hey, hey!” Deacon interjects. “Who said anything about trouble? This is just a routine clean-up. Take out the synths there, be back before anyone even notices were gone. Come on, you know as well as I do that you’d do better as a full agent.”

Maybe she doesn’t know. Hell, she’s been with the Railroad for what, two minutes now? But that gets her attention. He presses his advantage. “Des will appreciate this too. We’ve been looking to clean out Slocum Joe’s for a while now, but we just don’t have the manpower. But now that you’ve come along. . .”

She sighs. It’s so quiet that he almost misses it. “Okay.”

“Right, then,” he grins, placing his hands on his hips. “You go along, don’t want Desdemona to get too worried about you. But Lexington, tonight. Don’t forget.”

She nods, gripping tightly to the dog’s collar as she goes up the stairs. Just as she’s about to go into HQ, he calls, “You got a name or what?”

The woman pauses. She fidgets -- nervous. It’s a name; what’s there to be anxious about? And once the silence has stewed to an uncomfortable level, she leaves.

Deacon raises his eyebrows, not hiding his surprise. Jeez.

It doesn’t matter much anyway. He leaves the room, walking through the catacombs. He’s got a bag hidden around here somewhere -- ah, there it is. A quick check proves that everything’s intact, and, with a grin, he leaves the church.

This is going to be fun.

A few hours later, he’s dressed exactly like an average wastelander. Even smells like one too; has to resist the urge not to wrinkle his nose at the garbage scent wafting up from his clothes. He doesn’t have to wait long, though. The woman approaches hesitantly, the dog scouting out in front of her. She seems confused, hanging back instead of approaching him. Must be the disguise.

“Hey,” he says, waving her over. She jumps like he’s scared her. “You like it?”

“It’s. . .” she searches for the right word, then falters, unable to find one. “How did you do that?”

“Impressive, huh?” he replies, opening his arms out so she can get a better look. “Hey you! Get away from my pile of garbage!”

He doesn’t get a response to that. Oh well. He’ll just have to talk enough for the both of them. “Come on. I’ve got a couple things I’d like to show you.”

Their walk through the woods is quiet, despite the constant barking of her dog. He likes her well enough, but with the dog barking every couple of seconds or so, it’s telling every enemy in the area exactly where they are.

“That mutt got an off switch?” he tries after the third or fourth bark.

“No,” she replies evenly, and the dog barks again. Deacon groans softly, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands. This is turning out a lot more difficult than he had originally planned.

But there’s no backing out now.

On the way up the broken highway, he fills her in with the basics, pointing out the important railsigns and giving her the countersign to use when necessary. She takes it all in like he had been expecting her to -- silently.

As they approach the top, he says casually, trying to catch her off guard, “You know, you never gave me a name back at the church.”

“You’re right,” she agrees in the same tone of voice.

“It’s a little unfair, don’t you think?” he continues. “You knowing my name and me being left in the dark here?”

Instead of answering his question, she says, “This the tourist you were talking about?”

Yep. There he is, Ricky Dalton, grade-A wasteland trash, in the flesh. He turns to the woman, ignoring her earlier deflections. He’ll get her on that name thing later.

“All right, this one’s up to you, boss,” he says, crossing his arms. “You’re the leader here, I’ll be your backup.”

“This is your operation -- “ she protests.

“You’ve got this,” he encourages firmly. “Just tell him the countersign when he asks about your geiger counter, then ask about Slocum Joe’s. Piece of cake.”

Her hands clench into fists at her sides, but she does what he says. Deacon stands a safe distance away, listening. She does everything right. He smiles. Good to know that he’s guessed right on this one.

She doesn’t ask Ricky for anything else, which is fine. He would have asked for some more supplies or cover fire, but it’s blatantly obvious that this girl doesn’t talk much. He’s probably pushed her to her limits in just the past five minutes.

Ah well.

They’ve only walked a couple feet before the first ghoul comes ambling around an overturned bus. The woman doesn’t hesitate in pulling out her gun at the sounds of its moaning and groaning. Her dog rushes forward, barking as it reaches the ghoul and she shoots three rounds. One misses, but the other two hit the ghoul straight in the chest, killing it.

Deacon is less impressive. He scrambles to get his gun up and ready as more ghouls begin to swarm them. But the woman seems to have this one handled. She repeats the same pattern with each ghoul: the dog runs up to it, barks, then she shoots it. It’s an impressive combo, and it works.

“Save some for me!” he calls with a laugh, shooting the head of an approaching ghoul with his pistol. The woman flashes him a smile; she’s laughing too. Deacon can’t help but grin back.

But that’s when a ghoul manages to sneak up on him, getting it’s nightmarish claws caught in the fabric of his shirt. It scratches him good before he’s able to detach it, kicking it off of him and stomping on its head. He presses down on his side, wincing as blood bubbles up underneath his fingers.

Shit.

The woman takes care of the last of the ghouls efficiently and looks a bit lost until he says, “Hey, got a bit of a problem here, boss.”

She frowns, rushing to his side. “You okay?”

“One of them got me in the side,” he grunts, sliding his back down a bus to the floor. She kneels next to him, fingers hovering. He lifts up the bottom of his shirt, wincing as the fabric gets caught in the blood. The woman’s dog comes sniffing around him, but she shoos it away, looking concerned.

The wound itself isn’t very big, but it’s deep. A stimpak will take care of any risk of infection, but that bastard had gotten his claws in deep. It’ll need to be stitched up.

The woman’s already rummaging through his pack for a stimpak and pulls a handful of bandages out as well. Deacon interrupts her, “I’ve got some needle and thread somewhere in there too.”

She freezes, looking like a deer caught in headlights. She opens her mouth as if she’s going to say something, but thinks better of it, closing it in a firm line. He wants to know what she’s thinking, wants to see her eyes.

Injecting the stimpak a little farther away from the wound than he would have liked, she attempts to thread the needle with shaky hands, but the thread won’t go into the eye. Finally,  _finally_ , after about the fiftieth try and the needle nearly pressing up against her sunglasses it’s so close to her face, she gets it. Pure luck, probably.

Deacon waits for the pinch of the needle, shutting his eyes, but it never opens. He cracks open an eye. “What’s the hold up?”

She’s biting her lip and not looking at him. “I don’t. . .I can’t sew you up.”

“What do you mean?” he questions, brows furrowing. Everyone and their mothers is able to use a needle and thread. It’s basically a necessity in the Commonweath.

Or maybe she’s scared of blood. He’s run into a couple of those kind of people once or twice. The squeamish types never last long.

“I mean that I can’t,” she says forcefully, setting the needle and thread down. “I’ll just bandage you up and take you back to HQ. We’ll do this some other time.”

 _No, no, no._  The last thing he wants to do right now is explain to Des what happened. _“Yeah, tried to take the newbie out, got distracted, then got mauled by a ghoul. Oh, and she can’t do basic medical care. And we didn’t even make it to Slocum Joe’s either! Good times.”_

“Well,” he says, making his voice shake a little. Got to make this look convincing. “You’re going to have to learn quickly because I’m not sure I can make it back to the church without, you know,  _dying_.”

She mutters a curse underneath her breath and nearly rips off her sunglasses. They get tangled in her shockingly red hair and she tosses to the side once they’re free. “I can’t sew you up because I can barely fucking see you!”

Deacon sucks in a breath. There’s a big scar bisecting one of her blue eyes, which is completely cloudy. The other bloodshot one looks hazy too, but both of them are filled with frustrated tears. Angrily she wipes at her face with the back of her hand.

“You’re blind,” he says, oh-so-eloquently, for lack of anything else to say.

“Just in one eye,” she corrects, motioning upwards. “The other one’s just a bit. . .fuzzy.”

Her dog whines, placing his head on one of her thighs. She takes a shaky breath, resting her hand on top of its head. “If it wasn’t for Dogmeat here, well, I’d most likely be dead by now.”

Suddenly it all makes sense. The dog’s been leading her around, barking to tell her where obstacles were and pressing against her legs to make sure she didn’t hit them. He wanted to hit himself -- he had been a real asshole back there. And the way the two of them fought, with the dog telling her where to shoot. . .this woman is a lot more resourceful than he had originally thought.

The Railroad definitely needs someone like her.

“Nice dog,” is all he can manage, pressing harder against his side wound. “I hate to ask you to do this, but would you mind trying? Bad stitches are better than nothing at all.”

This time, she nods, picking up the needle and thread again. She gets uncomfortably close to him, a blush creeping up on her cheeks as she tries to get a better look at his wound. Deacon looks away.

“Sorry about this,” she says as she plunges the needle too far away from the wound. He grits his teeth, wanting to correct her, but she’s doing her best. Deacon keeps his mouth shut.

Eventually, she finishes up, nervously trying to wipe the blood off her hands. Her stitches are easy the worse he’s ever had, but they’re keeping the wound together. He’ll get Glory or someone to fix it up when they get back. Anyone except Carrington.

The bandaging process goes a lot smoother, and with another stimpak, he’s back up on his feet.

“Thanks,” he says, clapping her on the shoulder lightly. She’s put her glasses back on. “Ready to get moving?”

“You sure you don’t want to go back?”

“Positive,” he responds quickly, not wanting to go back to HQ until the mission’s done. He already got a claw to the side -- he doesn’t need to add failure on top of that.

She looks skeptical, but goes with him anyway.

After that mess, the whole business at Slocum Joe’s goes smoothly. He murmurs directions and sometimes will take her by the elbow to lead her past a big obstruction. She doesn’t say anything about it, but doesn’t push him away either. And this time he makes sure to actually provide some cover fire, but she doesn’t even bat an eye at the amount of synths they go through.

When they’re through with the place, he gives her Tommy’s gun (“This is a lot nicer than the pistol you have. Trust me.”) and takes Carrington’s prototype back to HQ. They decide to split up, her going to Sanctuary to “take care of some business” and him having nothing better to do than go immediately to the church.

He over elaborates the whole tale, of course. Des doesn’t believe a word of it, but that doesn’t bother him much. She never does.

When the woman arrives at HQ again, Desdemona questions her. Deacon is delighted to hear that she agrees with what he’s said.

“Yeah,” she replies, a hint of pride coloring her voice. “I did all that.”

Desdemona glances toward him. He grins, shrugging. “Told you.”

“Very well,” Desdemona says finally. “You’ll be needing a codename, then.”

The woman mulls it over, or, at least, Deacon thinks she does. She replies with, after about thirty seconds, in that quiet, raspy voice, “Ghost’ll do.”

Ghost. How very fitting.

“Ghost,” Des replies. “Welcome to the Railroad.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks everyone for reading! this is the first time i've written deacon, so i hope he's okay/in character! hope you all enjoyed.


End file.
